


abyssal.

by plutonianghost



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Other, Paranormal, Slime, human/monster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 02:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21487192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianghost/pseuds/plutonianghost
Summary: A man notices a gooey monster has suddenly inhabited his apartment. Despite his attempts at communication, the slime refuses to respond. This strange relationship develops - in more ways than one.
Kudos: 5





	abyssal.

It had been there for a couple days whenever I finally tried to speak to it. Silent, gurgling.

“What are you doing here?”

There was only silence from the shivering mass of sludge situated in the corner of my bedroom ceiling. It didn’t have eyes, though I knew it could see. I reached my hand out, but it refused. Rumbling a muffled response, it lurched back into the corner, flattening itself along the lines of the molding.

“Alright.” I left it alone.

For a few hours, I sat alone with it in my bedroom, instead of my usual routine of taking off all my work clothes, showering, laying on the bed for a few minutes to dry off, then retiring to the living room. I used my laptop and kept a watchful eye on the black being.

It dripped from the ceiling to the ground, like ferrofluid being manipulated by a magnet, shifting its core around supposedly to view the room. Its goop settled into the carpet and made an indentation in the flooring. I worried momentarily if it would sink through to the basement below. I shrugged, knowing even if it did, it would be no sweat off my back. I’d been trying to leave the place for months.

I flopped back onto the bed, closing my eyes and rubbing them harshly. Knowing it was approaching ten at night, I fumbled my work clothes off and nestled into bed. Hearing it move in the quiet was unnerving, if not so much that it was a monster of some kind, but because it had been there for a few days and I hadn’t even noticed it, save for the churning noise of its body.

Our relationship, or lack thereof, continued for a few days, and it turned into weeks, months. My boss fired me for being late one too many times, so I was home a lot while I searched for a job. It was the day I was fired that I realized the black form could move along the ceiling between rooms. It couldn’t leave my apartment, but it could hang atop the doorframe, dripping its incessant, unsmelling goo onto the ground below.

I decided that day was the day I needed to try to talk to it again.

“How are you, up there in the corner?”

It seemed to heave in disbelief. A short thunderous roar came from its depths, as it grew smaller, shrinking into itself.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” I whispered, attempting at a careful approach. It was, in fact, very apprehensive of me. Reaching out my hands again, in attempt to communicate with it, a drop of the fluid goo dribbled into my hand, feeling hot and cold at the same time.

Something happened between me looking up at the being and waking up on my kitchen floor covered in the stuff. I couldn’t even begin to rationalize what happened, but I was left feeling…violated in a sense.

That was when I smelled blood on the air.

Soon, I determined that it was able to control those it made contact with, which was maybe why it hadn’t touched me till then. Till it was hungry. It made me do a rather unseemly thing to an elderly person that I suppose had lived in my apartment complex. In a fit of sudden nausea, I could feel their meat in my gut. In the act of vomiting up the black mass’s meal, I also vomited out a lot of its gooey black body segments, which then crawled along the floor like leeches until it reached the black mass again.

“You have to promise not to control me without letting me know first.”

A soft burble in response.

“Is that a yes?”

The goo began to drip-drop onto the ground in larger quantities, I suppose asking for my hand. Nervously, I outstretched my hand, letting it envelope the skin up to my elbow. I was me, and it was it. It understood.

Days passed, I went to job interviews, nothing came of them. I began drinking, small bottles here and there; wine coolers, cheap champagne, Four Loko’s, which soon evolved into straight whiskey and bourbon, husky vodka and tequila. I was slowly depleting the nest egg I had been keeping for a summer vacation.

I was spiraling, but I didn’t like admitting it to myself. I always had a habit of unintentionally letting my emotions get ahold of my wallet. Sometimes I would go on pizza benders. Eat nothing but pizza for a few weeks, then suddenly start eating salads and boiled eggs again, jarring my digestive tract. When I was younger, I would buy houseplants online, thinking I could teach myself to be a botanist and crossbreed plants. That never worked, but I have a lot of nice houseplants now. I used to buy two or three tickets to the same movie for different times, so I could watch it the first time, then have somewhere other than home to nap for a few hours and feel like someone cared about me when they awakened me to clean the theater.

All of those actions were, of course, silly and inconsequential. I had no other feelings toward anything, other than plants, pizza, movies, and alcohol. I needed something else to fill the void, to pour my feelings and unrecognized thoughts into.

That’s where _it_ came in.

One night, I decided to leave the curtains open while I slept. I wanted to wake with the sunrise, no matter how early it forced me out of the bed. The moonlight bathed the bedroom in a sort of unearthly haze, the being whirring in its rest. I didn’t know what else to do, because I couldn’t sleep and the faint, familiar itch was prickling at my fingertips.

The only thought that sped through my head was, “Just cum, and you’ll forget all about it.” So, I decided that was the method to get myself to sleep. I pushed my fingers down into my boxers, holding my limp penis in my hand, trying to muster up the mental images I needed to un-flaccid myself.

I thought of my ex-wife, Violet. She was my partner in crime; we grew up together, in the same neighborhood, in the same school, up until college. After I dropped out, I came home to find that she had never even went to college. I asked her to go out with me, and even if she didn’t end up wanting a relationship, it would be a nice dinner. Somehow, I ended up convincing her to go watch a movie with me as well. It was a stupid move about a time traveling skeleton named Ringo, and we ended up not even really watching the movie and just started sending each other memes back and forth.

We fucked four times that night. It was like finally touching an untainted angel I had only ever been able to look at; cradling her in my arms as she writhed in her pink bedsheets. I remember the way her hair smelled like vanilla and the way her lips tasted like expensive cigarettes. Her parents were in the bedroom next to us, slumbering with their sleep apnea machines on full blast, so that anything we said or did would only be heard by the worms in the gardens outside.

Before I could really think of anything else, my hand was wet and a sheen of sweat had formed on my brow. When I opened my eyes, I saw the black mass finally away from the corner – quickly crawling back up into the corner, but away from the corner nonetheless.

To be honest, I had forgotten it was even there. I felt ashamed that it had to see me like that.

I spent my days tending to my indoor apartment garden, trying to distract myself from the events surrounding our divorce. Knowing there was a reason I don’t use her as jerk-off material in the first place, I seem to have forgotten just how delicate those thoughts were for me. She was a dream, a visage of Rosé and the harsh words she said before wrecking my car and calling me the asshole. To her, I never felt enough, had an empty brain, an empty heart.

Attesting to her that the only thing I could possibly say to make it better was that she was my only thoughts, she was my ideal. Violet was the only person I had ever felt lust for, and now I can barely muster up the lust to make myself deal with my own dick.

Sighing heavily into a bottle of scotch I had half down by one p.m., I noticed the black mass was hanging above my garden like a gargoyle. Watching me as I replanted my spring flowers and herbs for the new season, quietly admiring their gentle blooms and delicate leaves.

I glanced up at it, regarding it with interest. “Hey there, you…” I paused, grasping that I didn’t know its name. “what’s your name?”

It didn’t sound like words, but it grumbled, a hollow noise escaping from somewhere on its form, sounding like air draining from a tire and the fourth of July happening in the town over in the same truncated answer. I couldn’t make it out, so I asked again.

“_V e a_…” It gargled, whispering the name like a strangled hush.

“Alright, Vea. It’s nice to finally know your name.”

The low wail of Vea’s existence persisted, and at once, it dodged out of the living room and straight into the bedroom, where it stayed for most of the time.

I sighed once again, peering into my lavender’s dirt as if searching for answers. After watering all my plants and drinking down the rest of the scotch, I plopped onto the bed.

Propping myself up onto my elbows, I said, “Vea, you’ve been a wonderful houseguest. But I would love to know why exactly you’re here.”

Vea purred heavily from the corner, growling as it mumbled out, “S a d.”

Understanding, I nodded. “Yes, I am sad. But why did you make me eat that old person?”

“D y…_i n g_.” It tittered. “W a s g o i n g.”

“The person was dying?”

A buzz in response.

“I guess you’re merciful, then?”

“…_y e s_.”

“Thank you for being here with me, while I’ve been so sad. You’ve been good company.”

No response. I turned over and cried a few quiet tears, and slept through the night and early morning, until twelve the next afternoon.

Awakening to quite the astonishment, I observed that Vea was snuggled up in the corner closest to my headboard. Upon my waking, it noticed and quickly retreated back to its favorite corner. I chuckled, Vea’s form jerking in either embarrassment or anger. It howled pitifully and slid into the molding, hiding itself.

My day was slow and dark, until I received a heavy letter through the mail slot.

It was from Violet, so of course I ripped it open immediately, clenching the paper with a perspiring grip.

She had a baby. _My_ baby. And she was sending a court mandated letter requesting – rather, demanding – child support from me.

At that moment, despite everything that I had been through in the past months, I realized that today was probably the day. I prepared my favorite pizza, had a few glasses of the most expensive wine I owned, watched _Back to the Future_, then said goodbye to all of my plants. I texted my mom, my sister, and Violet, telling them all I loved them. I took note of the date: April 7th. It wasn’t an important date for me. It would probably never be an important date, even after me.

I downed a half bottle of oxycontin, seven diphenhydramine, the rest of the Ativan I had, and slowly drank a bottle of nighttime cough syrup. I wanted to throw up, but my body was already so tired. Slowly, I collapsed into a heap under the covers, feeling the inferno build in my stomach, scratch at my esophagus, and end at my tongue.

The next thing I knew, the clock read six p.m. of April 8th. I had slept through the night and day and some of the evening. When I moved, my heart fluttered and my vision went milky white, my stomach flubbed and lurched. I almost passed out right there, but quickly grounded myself by grabbing the bedpost with both hands.

In my miasma, I perceived that Vea wasn’t in the corner.

“Vea?” I called through the apartment, noticing my voice was hoarse and I had no control over my gag reflex. I ran as fast as I could to the bathroom, leaning over the toilet bowl and watching in horror as it filled up with black sludge, and many of the pills I took last night were lodged in its swirling vortex of a body. The parts of its body holding the pills surged with heat, let off steam, slowly phasing through Vea and into the toilet bowl. Stunned, I carefully shifted forward to lift the black mass out of the toilet, and into my arms.

It snuggled further into my hold, and trembled. The pills had left an effect on Vea, burns the size of buttons dancing along its warbling form.

“_B a d_…”

“I know,”

“D o n ’ t _a g a i n_.” Vea stammered out with a resonating shriek.

That night Vea slept in the corner closest to where I slept. It was comforting to hear its tiny purrs and sleepy grumbles as it rested. I relaxed as well, unable to feel most of my body.

I awoke to a pleasant heat at my backside, feeling a balmy liquid-like substance ensconce my naked form. I knew I had not been naked when I went to sleep, so I had to have been controlled by Vea that night.

“I thought I asked you to tell me before you controlled me,”

It tittered playfully, the warmth spreading over my ribs and onto my stomach. A hug.

“N o c o n t r o l.” Vea chirruped. “M a n i p u l … a t e.”

At once I felt its long, smooth tendrils curl around my member, startling me. Another shocking movement made me inadvertently moan; as Vea’s fronds entered me and coiled up inside me from behind. It began slightly pushing into me, causing me to begin to panic.

I tried to struggle, despite how good it felt, only to be met with a stronger embrace.

“R e … _l a x_.”

Its branches thickened and wet my insides, the feeling of being covered in a warm, friendly, gooey being suddenly comforting me to my very core. Vea slithered up my cheeks and opened my mouth wide, and unexpectedly shoved itself inside. It tasted like vanilla and tobacco, of the past and of what I thought I could never live without. The being became enraptured by my reactions, purring and singing and almost mewling when I responded to its movements. I had never felt pleasure quite like that, as though I was being pleased by my very own mind; Vea knew where to touch, how to pull, when to lick, and what exactly my body needed. Perfectly stroking, thrusting, sucking, and pushing until I was climaxing into its black abyss of a body. A sort of culmination pumped into me from its fronds, injecting into me until my lower stomach felt pleasantly full.

We lay there, heaving out the last breaths of my orgasm, and Vea, shuddering as its appendages slipped out of my body, humming out, “_H a p p y_.”

Sighing, I agreed, “Me too, Vea.”

“I a m … s o r r y.”

I died that night very happy. Happier than I ever had been before in my short and uneventful life. And we may have died together, both from the horrible things the pills did to our bodies. We remained in that apartment together, purring and conversing amongst ourselves in our language of thunderous roars and growling mewls. Until an occupant came to our home, and we lived in the closet for a few months.

Now, we reside in our own corner together, constantly intermingling like leeches in blood, jellyfish in death, listening to our new houseguest as he goes about his life.

I can’t wait to introduce myself to him.


End file.
